


all this is window dressing

by agent_orange



Series: queen of cups (reversed) [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Twins, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Character(s) of Color, Drunkenness, Genderqueer Character, Incest, Marijuana, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Other, Public Sex, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 21:38:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5264555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s a little dizzy, so it’s definitely an accident when his hand lands on the inside of Lafayette’s thigh instead of their knee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all this is window dressing

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [des gants longs, bas résille et le jartelle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5204630) by [witchpriest (inkhead)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkhead/pseuds/witchpriest). 



> The real Jefferson is the worst. My thanks/apologies to Daveed Diggs and LMM. Also thanks to [vicesandvipers](http://vicesandvipers.tumblr.com/) for looking this over for me. Find me [on Tumblr](http://laissezunfair.tumblr.com/) and we can talk about Hamilton.
> 
> See y'all in the dumpster.

Hamilton, loud and just drunk enough that he’s made several attempts to debate (fight) Thomas, deftly hails them a cab. He is more sober than Thomas and Lafayette, in any case, and still all nervous energy and wide eyes.

“Lafayette, _mon ami_ , if you end up in Atlantic City again, I’m not coming to get you this time,” he says as he closes the door behind them. “Go home.” Thomas thinks he sees Alexander slip a folded-up bill into the cabdriver’s hand.

“ _À demain_ , Alexander.” Lafayette puts extra emphasis on his roll of the _r_. Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas sees Hamilton fiddle with his phone like he’s arranging a ride for himself, but then he’s gone, yanking a denim jacket over his hoodie as he begins walking at a brisk pace.

Thomas doesn’t feel a bit guilty about not offering to share the cab; they’re going in opposite directions, and he is drunk. Lafayette is absolutely hammered. There’s no hint of weed smoke clinging to their clothes but they’re dropping into French now and their mouth seems to wrap around syllables in a slow, drugged-out way. Thomas decides they must be on something else, too—are they _rolling_? He’s taken aback that he wasn’t included. That’s more than a bit rude, only...his brain is swimming too much to make that opinion known. Maybe he’ll bring it up in the morning.

The way Laf’s eyes can’t seem to focus makes Thomas say, “Let’s get some food in you, hm? Pancakes sound good?” When he digs his phone out of his pocket to check the time, he sees it’s nearly three a.m., meaning there’s no way he’ll make it to his class at ten. He hadn’t even wanted to go this fucking rave in the first place, but he doesn’t actually have to worry much about getting good grades. There are some texts, hours old by now, and a handful of Twitter replies, which he ignores.

 **MADISON** , 9:47 p.m.  
_pls tell me you havent started on that essay for agribusiness yet_

10:12 p.m.  
_lets write them together?_

10:18 p.m.  
_im coming to yr place tomorrow then. with joints and mac n cheese ok itll b good. do u have adderall?!?_

Thomas shoves it back in his pocket. He doesn’t need this shit right now. Not when Lafayette shakes their straightened-out hair out and loops it into a messy bun. He catches their eye, brushing away a smudge of glittery shadow from their cheek.

“ _Non, je veux de l’eau_ ,” they mutter into Thomas’ neck. The kiss they drop there graduates into a bite, and Thomas peers into the mirror. The cabbie’s eyes meet Thomas’ briefly before he glances away and then Lafayette is kissing his mouth, their tongue brushing Thomas’ own.

“We shouldn’t,” he whispers, and then says aloud, “Hey, pull over a sec.” Thomas ducks into a convenience store, grabbing the biggest bottle of water he can find and then snacks at random, in case Laf decides they want them later: Doritos, Pringles, chocolate-covered pretzels, some kind of fruit and seed mix. After tossing a handful of bills on the counter, he hurries back out to the cab. In the back of his mind, there’s always a niggling fear that Lafayette isn’t safe on their own, not with the way they look. The tightness in his chest dissipates when he sees that they’re fine, sleepily nodding along to the mindless pop the cabbie’s turned way up.

He hands the bottle to Lafayette, who gulps down the water greedily and then kisses Thomas’ cheek in thanks, their lips cold and wet. “I could ‘ave waited,” they say.

Shaking his head, Thomas assures them that it’s fine, bites a little at their lower lip. “Now we have snacks for later.” The stoplight casts an eerie red glow over Lafayette’s face, and Thomas blinks to clear the vision from his mind. His eyes are still closed when Laf kisses him again, mouth off-center and clumsy but still _so_ good. They bury their fingers in Thomas’ curls, giving a slight tug but mostly just directing his mouth this way and that. Lafayette is surprisingly coordinated, and the scotch Thomas had shot right before leaving the party is going to his head, feels heavy in his stomach when the cabbie makes a hard right turn. He’s a little dizzy, so it’s definitely an accident when his hand lands on the inside of Lafayette’s thigh instead of their knee.

He attempts to say as much but Lafayette just lets out a hum through their teeth, fingers lacing in Thomas’ as they arch into the touch. It’s impossible not to feel the heat radiating off them. Thomas should be better. He should say _no, not here_ , should at least ask them what they’ve taken. He’s dealt with his feelings for Laf but the guilt bubbles up again, reminding him how wrong this is: his twin, in a cab, and neither of them are sober.

Their fingers tilt Thomas’ jaw toward them, brow furrowing. They look like they know exactly what Thomas is thinking (of course they do) and it displeases them.

“Indulge me?” Lafayette asks, though it’s not really a question. They kiss Thomas’ jaw, his neck, before giving a few moments’ attention to his lips. He gives in without further protest; he can’t deny Lafayette and his guard is down from the alcohol.

It’s so easy to let his head be guided down, to ruck the fabric of Lafayette’s dress up. He knows they chose it to flaunt their legs, which have been distracting Thomas all night. One minute he was looking for the Schuyler sisters, trying to gauge their interest, and the next he couldn’t stop staring at Lafayette from across the room, fixated by their muscles and how their limbs seemed to stretch for miles. Now, he gets to run his hands up that expanse of brown skin, which is shaved perfectly smooth.

Lafayette looks at him, raises one defined eyebrow as if to say _Well, what are you waiting for?_

With a final glance in the mirror to make sure they’re clear, Thomas squeezes his own cock once and breathes deep. (His lungs feel shitty, raspy from too many bummed cigarettes. He needs to stop doing that. He can do this.) He presses a finger to his lips, probably unnecessarily, then pulls at Lafayette’s underwear. It takes some awkward maneuvering and Lafayette shoving their hips forward so Thomas can reach between their legs and pull their cock free.

For a minute, he wonders if Lafayette has fallen asleep, but then realizes no, they’re just blessedly silent as Thomas takes them into his mouth. The angle is terrible—Thomas is folded over himself and gripping Laf’s thigh for balance as he sucks. But likes the solid weight of it in his mouth, the rhythm. Especially likes the way Lafayette isn’t shy about what they want, sometimes keeping Thomas in place with their firm hands. (Because sometimes, Thomas lets himself be kept in place until his jaw aches, until he can’t quite breathe and his head spins, because sometimes Thomas just needs to not _think_. Maybe worse, he can’t tell if Laf knows this, or just knows they never need to ask for a blowjob.)

In the interest of keeping quiet, he doesn’t do that now, just shifts enough so that Lafayette’s cock starts to press at the top of his throat. Lafayette yanks Thomas’ hair _hard_ and he doesn’t give in, but pulls back and licks delicately down the sides of their cock, over the head. They’re holding back a moan through gritted teeth and Thomas takes it as a challenge, wraps a hand around them as his mouth moves in counterpoint. Though he can’t move too much if he’s trying to pretend he’s just resting his head in Lafayette’s lap.

On second thought, he reconsiders the plausibility of that when a tiny moan breaks from somewhere deep inside Lafayette. They’re so close, but Thomas wants to make them whimper and curse. He wants them stretched out naked in his bed; their midterms have made them scarce lately. He pulls off with one last swipe of his tongue, and Lafayette nearly whines when Thomas puts them back in their panties, pulls their back dress down. Lafayette is still obviously hard under the layers of fabric, which looks ridiculous. And hot. _Fuck._

“Want to hear you fall apart for me,” he explains in a whisper. Lafayette calls him a shithead and pouts their lips, so Thomas rests his hand on their erection, just giving them something to press against. He’s so turned it’s almost painful, but his jeans and the liquor mean he’s only half hard. Maybe he’ll need a few extra minutes once he finally gets his pants off. Hopefully only a few.

The drive feels longer than it actually is. Finally, they pull up to Thomas’ building in the Flatiron. He digs more cash out of his wallet and gives it to the driver, shrugs off his coat to drape it over Lafayette’s shoulders so they look a little less blatant as they walk through the lobby. He can’t keep his hands off Lafayette in the elevator or help the way he ruts against their thigh pressed between his legs, but finally the elevator dings at the top floor and Thomas unlocks the door to his loft as quickly as possible.

He tosses the snacks onto the kitchen island, switches the lights from a headache-inducing bright to dim golden, glad once again that he splurged on design. Lafayette wobbles a bit on their heels, and Thomas grins when they finally kick them off, finally putting them eye-to-eye with Thomas instead of having to look down at him. Their pupils are huge and black, the brown barely visible beneath their thick lashes. He goes to pin them against a wall so he can suck a hickey into their neck, make them be loud, but Laf pivots at the last second, causing Thomas to nearly lose his balance. They rummage around in their ridiculously tiny purse and pull out a thick joint and their favorite purple lighter.

“I know you don’t actually care if the place reeks of smoke,” they say, sticking the joint into their mouth and hooking their fingers in Thomas’ belt loops. “This is for the, ah... _descendre_.” And Thomas has his answer—they took molly, then, or some form of it. Great. He knows from experience that Lafayette will be morose tomorrow, likely complain about how much they miss France.

It doesn’t matter now: Lafayette inhales deeply and places the joint in Thomas’ mouth, laughing as he coughs from doing the same too quickly. They light it again for him, rub their thumb across his mouth, and it makes something spark in his dick. Good to know it still works.

“It’s good, _non_?” Thomas can’t answer; he’s still trying to catch his breath. It’s strong, and even though Lafayette smokes most of the joint, it doesn’t take long for Thomas to feel its effects, the way it pleasantly clouds his mind over and radiates calm through his body.

When he regains control of his tongue, he says, “Come on, please, _c’mon_ , I want you.” And of course Lafayette knows but Thomas knows it makes them happy to hear it. By the time they make it up the stairs and into Thomas’ bedroom, he’s tugged off his shirt and Lafayette is wriggling out of their dress.

He gives Laf a gentle shove backward and they settle into Thomas’ bed, rubbing their legs against his sheets. Lights shine through the windows even at this hour, flickering over them, and he takes a moment to drink in the sight. 

“I can’t believe you made me wait all night for this. We could have just stayed in and gotten down to it _hours_ ago,” Thomas says. Eager to not waste more time, he sinks to his knees, working Lafayette’s underwear down their legs and tossing it aside. Their giggle rings through the room.

“ _Mais_ , it is much more fun to make you work for it. And to dress up, _non_? Though you didn’t seem to bother with that...” they say, arching into the touch of Thomas’ hands on their thighs, spreading them open. He doesn’t waste time on frills now. They’ve waited so long, been so _good_ for him. He relishes the way their abs tense up as he bends his head to take their dick into his mouth again, still wet from before and _god_ , he’s not going to have any problem getting off tonight.

He lets Lafayette push their cock into his throat now and he feels so full. The insistent press of it is familiar, almost comforting in a sick way, enjoyable nonetheless. One hand strokes over his cheek, but otherwise, they seem too weary to exert more control. They’re propped up on their elbows, eyes lazily tracking Thomas’ movements, and this only pleases him more, how he can capture their attention so easily. When they groan, it overpowers the ambient noise from outside and the anxious drumbeat of Thomas’ own heart in his ears.

Everything echoes in his cavernous loft, though, and his downstairs neighbors must want to murder him by now. Predictably, Lafayette doesn’t give a fuck; Thomas thinks that they get off on being loud, but he hasn’t been able to test this theory. All the better for Thomas, really, because he’s finally getting what he wanted earlier. It only takes him humming a little around Lafayette before they moan in earnest this time, momentarily choking Thomas with the bucking of their hips. Spluttering, he has to heave in lungfuls of breath, pausing with his head on Lafeyette’s thigh as tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Involuntarily, of course, but he’s still ashamed. It’s just that he’s drunk and clumsy and distracted by the way Lafayette is saying his name.

A few minutes after he takes them into his mouth again, Thomas is swallowing indelicately against the saltiness flooding his throat. He feels the sharp bite of Lafayette’s nails in his shoulders, drawing blood because they’ve let them grow past their fingertips.

As they lean down to pull Thomas into bed, Lafayette’s lips graze his forehead. “You were amazing,” they say, kissing their taste out of his mouth. If he doesn’t come soon, Thomas thinks, his dick might actually fall off. Even with his jeans restricting his blood flow, he’s fully hard, but there is a god after all because Laf takes takes care of the snaps and zipper and his boxers and curls their warm hand around Thomas. And Lafayette is so much better at multitasking than Thomas is, because while they’re licking into Thomas’ mouth and twisting their hand just so, they maneuver Thomas into their lap. Granted, the position is a little awkward, with one of his knees pressed to Lafayette’s back while he keeps his other leg flat for support.

“Harder, _fuck_ ,” he says into their shoulder, no longer able to keep his head up as Lafayette squeezes him. The sensation is too much and not enough all at once, and at this angle he can’t get much purchase to thrust. “Can you just—” Thomas looks away as cuts himself off.

Lafayette prompts him. “Just what?”

“Just—” Thomas repeats. He lies down on his back and still won’t meet Lafayette’s eyes. Places his hand over their own, brings it to his throat. “This.” Pushes down a little, waiting for them to get the hint. His heart races more; he’s hoping for no judgement, maybe an enthusiastic response if he’s lucky.

“ _Oh_ ,” breathes Lafayette as a smile plays across their lips. Their hand almost spans Thomas’ neck, and there’s more power in their fingers than Maria had when she did this to him. A smile spreads across his own face, making up for the words he would say, and it’s lucky he doesn’t need to say anything. For his breath stutters out of his chest and he feels the oxygen deprivation more than he feels the speed of Lafayette’s hand on his cock increasing. They lean down more to bear just a little weight on Thomas’ throat, accompanied by a kiss.

Thomas doesn’t black out when he comes, but it’s a near thing with darkness blurring out some of his vision. It’s probably his thready gasp that makes Lafayette take their hand away, some concern edging into his expression. Immediately, Thomas misses the weight bearing down on him, though at least he’ll have a bruise to poke at tomorrow.

In their infinite wisdom (or maybe just too tired from their activities), Lafayette doesn’t ask about Thomas’ request, not even silently. When their hand catches around his throat again, it’s feather-light, more to hold him in place as Lafayette looks at him this way and that. There’s a tenderness there even as he feels like he’s being inspected for defects and he wants to hide his face, keep the worst parts of himself private.

“Really, I’m fine,” Thomas insists, feeling his voice scrape like gravel in his throat. He doesn’t sound fine. Lafayette stumbles lazily out of bed to return a few minutes later with a hand towel and a large glass of ice water, the latter of which they hand to Thomas. He steadily chugs half the glass before setting it aside.

“I really needed that,” he finally admits. “The water too. Thank you, Laf.” He gets a Look that means he’s going to have to explain himself before too long. They’ll want to go over boundaries, rules—he knows—to be responsible. Now, though, they’re drawing the blinds and slipping one of their oversized tshirts over their head, carefully wiping Thomas’ come off of his stomach and their hand.

“Worth the wait?” they tease, and Thomas rolls his eyes before kissing them again. 

“Go to sleep,” he says, pulling the covers up and around both of them them so he can do the same. Lafayette slings an arm over Thomas’ chest and then just wraps the rest of their body around him, sleepily mumbling something that could be “good night.” With Lafayette breathing soft and even into Thomas’ ear, he drifts into sleep quickly, exhausted and happy.

~*~

Lafayette is still passed the fuck out when Thomas wakes up thanks to his bladder. The lights are off so it’s kind of a struggle to get to the bathroom in between his stacks of books and parts for half-finished inventions. He puts one of his hands over the bruises on his throat as he pisses. Then he gets to work on feeling slightly less dead: scrubbing his hands and face; getting the awful taste out of his mouth; untangling a few knots in his hair, but his head pounds incessantly. 

Great. He’d already been expecting to get a headache while grading papers for Adams later—today will be fun. Though he opens the medicine cabinet for Advil, he finds a black film canister where the painkillers usually are. His addled brain takes a moment to process it before he recalls: a department cocktail party/impromptu concert at Franklin’s house a few weeks ago, during which the man himself brought Thomas into his study “just to talk” for the better part an of an hour before slipping him an eighth of weed. He couldn’t exactly turn it down.

And maybe, he hopes against all odds, that Franklin’s “foreign” weed will spark some creativity so his agribusiness paper isn’t as dry as a desert. Laf’s probably got at least two pipes stashed somewhere in Thomas’ place, he figures, so he just has to find one and ignore the nausea rising in his stomach until he can smoke.

Bathroom: clear. Liquor cabinet: nothing but drinks. The weird end table Lafayette dumped in Thomas’ living room proves fruitful when he opens the bottommost drawer to find a (frankly hideous) green and black pipe, which will do the job fine. His fingers shake a little as he packs the bowl but a few hits settle his stomach, ease his headache. The morning doesn’t feel so painfully harsh, and Thomas thinks idly about trying to grow a plant of his own. Walking back to his bedroom, he realizes it’s not worth the effort when he could probably continue to get it for free.

The glare of his phone screen makes Thomas wince, and he keeps it facing down as he slips back into bed. All he wants to check is if Washington’s made edits to one of Thomas’ papers, but other notifications fill the screen first. More tweets, a bunch of Instagram likes (who the fuck was taking pictures last night?), and so many texts he’s already dreading whatever’s ahead.

 **MADISON** , 3:12 a.m.  
_hey you up?_

 **MOTHERFUCKING FEDERALIST** , 4:38 a.m.  
_listen up fuckface im going to learn you a thing_

4:40 a.m.  
_its called the care and feeding of lafayette after their trip_

4:42 a.m.  
_they need SO MUCH water. like drain the atlantic ocean and desalinate it and give them that._

5:29 a.m.  
_also the greasiest brunch youve ever imagined (nowhere in your yuppie neighborhood)_

5:35 a.m.  
_no loud noises and NO! stressing!!_

5:37 a.m.  
_most importantly they need to be cuddled and told theyre beautiful and perfect_

5:41 a.m.  
_can yr backwards backwoods virginia ass handle that?_

6:04 a.m.  
_if you even think about ignoring any of these instructions rest assured_

6:05 a.m.  
_i will find you_

6:06 a.m.  
_and destroy you_

6:50 a.m.  
_and i will tell angelica what you said about her_

7:00 a.m.  
_and then ill rip france a new one in my next three papers for global econ DONT THINK I WONT submit them for publication too_

7:01 a.m.  
_enjoy yr day_ :)

Thomas hates his life sometimes. He couldn’t even find a journal to publish his fucking honors thesis, and Hamilton is still an undergrad (a nineteen-year-old sophomore who’s president of several clubs and has a fucking _Tumblr _just to publish his essays, that _bastard _). No self-respecting journal would publish his work, or so Thomas thought. What an arrogant brat. In response to the barrage, Thomas sends Hamilton exactly one text, knowing full well he’ll get a three-page email about this, goddammit, and mostly likely a reprimanding from someone else.____

 _immigrants are ruining this country._ Emojis are also ruining this country, though Thomas sticks a little American flag icon at the end. The kid is just too easy not to mess with—wind him up and watch him go, though he switches his phone to silent. Today holds plenty of opportunities to antagonize Hamilton, but that can wait until he’s more rested and caffeinated. Still asleep, Lafayette is producing heat like a furnace and the sheets now smell like their perfume; it’s perfect.


End file.
